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Her smile is sharp as a knife, her lips red as blood. His name isn’t Potter, but there’s no one else this stranger could be talking to. She’s at his apartment, a tiny one-bedroom in a sleepy Massachusetts town.

“I think this will help,” she says, showing him a newspaper with the headline, “NEW LEAD IN MISSING POTTER SON CASE.” He doesn’t understand until she flips the paper over and shows him the accompanying photograph.

Albus had long known that this day would be coming. After all, he had since the day they first met sensed an unusual thirst for knowledge, along with the capability to lead and inspire those inferior. Some would say that his qualities made him perfect for the position currently open in the school’s faculty. Albus had his doubts.

As the boy who was now a man stepped into his study, Albus could not help but wonder. Would he attempt to persuade him? Would he beg him? Threaten him?

Ron cannot avoid it. After three years of automatic payroll deductions going into his savings account at Gringott's Bank, he must withdraw a sum for a down payment on his new house. His last visit to Gringott's was the raid in 1998 when he, Harry, and Hermione stole the Hufflepuff cup from the Lestrange vault. Now, approaching the white marble facade of the bank, he hopes to deal with a new, young teller who won't recognize him.

No such luck. As he enters, Griphook walks up to him. Griphook regards Ron evenly, then says drily, "We meet again, Mr. Weasley."

Name: TheloonyhermioneHouse: RavenclawTitle: Fear, not FaithRating/Warning: 1st-2nd years, violence (kinda)A/N: I'll leave it to you to guess who this is about, though I used no names, it's probably pretty obvious.

Shuddering, you realize that it’s finally happened. He’s back. He’s thanked you, yes, but who knows what he could do to you now? He knows you did it out of fear, not faith.

You flinch as you sense his moving closer to you. He’s much stronger now, even stronger than he had been before. Your eyes squeeze closed, preparing themselves for his harsh tones that you know too well. Every muscle in your body tenses as you feel a wand tip touch your cheek. You slowly open your eyes, to find him staring at you.

“We meet again, Mr. Pettigrew.”

~εɱɱą =)Author Page~Duel~Excerpts~Drabbles~(not-so-great)Poetry~RAVENCLAW!!Thanks so much to Toni for making this wonderful banner and avvie. Quote on avatar is from the song Sigh No More by Mumford and Sons. <3My total BFFLE is Kreacher Feacher/Loony at Heart/Taylor. Don't let her scare you. XD

I'm quite busy at the moment, so I may be pretty spotty or just not seem to appear at all. I'll hopefully be back to normal in a few months.

Name: SerONoSerUnGryffindorHouse: La Casa de las AguilasTitle: On the MoveRating/Warning: 1st/2nd Years – None A/N: If these drabbles get any worse, I will have to start apologising for them. >.<

Breathing heavily, Percy practically ran after Mr Crouch. The man could’ve been on a broom moving as fast as he did — checking every last detail, looking over every shoulder. And as Crouch’s assistant, it was Percy’s job to take notes on everything and keep up with his blistering pace.

Finally, after hours of treading mercilessly through the Ministry as preparations began for the Triwizard Tournament, Percy caught up with Crouch at last.

Crouch turned and eyed Percy. “So, we meet again, Mr Weatherby. I haven’t seen you all day. Look sharp!”

Name: Julz RulzHouse: SlytherinTitle: And Darkness the Right Hand of LightRating/Warning: 3rd-5th yearsA/N: This is a sort of sequel to a time-travel drabble I wrote for the SBBC. Like it's predecessor, the title is taken from The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula Le Guin.

“We meet again, Mr Nott.”

Theo looks at the man before him, shriveled and barely there. The room smells of something unpleasant beneath the heavy sharpness of disinfectant.

“Croaker.” The old man smiles and raises a shaking finger. Theo ignores him, feeling the warm blood dripping onto his chin. “Did you know? You said you didn’t know the effects of time travel but I think you did.”

Croaker lowers his arm with a groan.

“Does it matter, boy?”

Theo shakes his head. “No. You knowingly sent me to my death many years ago. Now I get to return the favour.”